


Sweetheart Thorin

by WanderingAlice



Series: Fairy-Tales Retold [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alice shouldn't write in the car, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Grimm's Fairytales with Thorin and Bilbo, M/M, Sweetheart Roland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:25:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of the Grimm Fairy-tale Sweetheart Roland, with Thorin and Bilbo. </p><p>Lobelia is Bilbo's stepmother, and a witch in both the non-magical and magical meanings of the word. When she attempts to murder Bilbo, but kills her own son instead, Bilbo and Thorin flee together. Unfortunately, Lobelia isn't about to let them get away that easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetheart Thorin

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Grimm’s Fairy-tale Sweetheart Roland, a beautifully done comic version of which can be found here. (Read the rest of them too, if you like Grimm’s fairytales, I love these comics, and all three artists are wonderful!)
> 
> Fair warning- this was written on a trip from a project back to my site, on an ipad. Feel free to notify me of any mistakes (especially with spelling and/or autocorrect.)

In the land of the Shire, far away and long ago, there lived a hobbit. His name was Bilbo Baggins, and he was well beloved by almost all who knew him. When Bilbo was a young child, his mother died. His father, fearing his young son needed a mother in his life, married the recently-widowed Lobelia, who brought with her her young son Lotho. The pair settled into Bag End as if they had always belonged there, and Bilbo supposed his father was happy. Lobelia was a harsh stepmother, and punished Bilbo badly if he displeased her, but the young hobbit never lost his cheerful, kind nature. It grated on Lobelia, who loved her child (for his heart was as black as her own) but compared her slovenly, morose, bully of a boy with the cheerful, proper, and gentle Bilbo, and found him wanting. And so, she did her best to make life hard for her step-son.

What she didn’t know was that Bilbo had a secret. He had a sweetheart, a dwarf, Thorin, the son of the head of the Blacksmith's Guild. The pair stole what moments they could together, and on the rare days when Bilbo was allowed some free time, they took a picnic out by the river. These meetings were the true bright spots in Bilbo’s life, for Thorin, he found, was his one true love.These meetings did not happen near as often as either would have liked, but they made due. Thorin, being a blacksmith himself, often made Bilbo small gifts, such as the beautiful cloak-pin worked into the crest of the Durin family, Thorin's people. It was a pretty thing, made of silver steel and precious jewels, and was Bilbo's prized possession. With it, Thorin presented him with a fine cloak, for it was coming on towards winter and the nights were getting cold. 

Now, when Bilbo returned home, he encountered his stepmother and brother at the door, and proudly showed them his new cloak. Then with a smile and a skip in his step, Bilbo went to his room. He caressed the cloak fondly when he placed it on his little table, next to the bed he shared with his stepbrother. Then he went to prepare dinner, content with the knowledge that Thorin loved him, and someday soon they would end their courtship, and Thorin would bring Bilbo into his home as his husband. 

Elsewhere in the house, Lotho seethed. He had never been in love, nor was it likely he was capable of loving, but he saw what Bilbo had, and he  _wanted_  it. He was unable to understand just what he desired, having known only the twisted kind of love that Lobelia lavished upon him, and so he transferred that longing to a symbol of Bilbo's love- his beautiful cloak and cloak-pin.

"I  _want_  that cloak _!"_ he declared to his mother. "The one that Bilbo has. It's nice, and I _need_ it."

Lobelia nodded, for she, too, had seen how beautiful the cloak was, and knew her son deserved such a thing far more than Bilbo with his incessant songs and simpering smile. "Be calm, dear one," she said. "Bilbo has long deserved death. He is such an annoying child, and if it wasn't for his father’s money, I should not have born with him this long. Tonight, when you go to bed, be sure to sleep by the wall and push Bilbo to the edge of the bed. While he is asleep, I will come in with my hatchet and I will kill him."

On the other side of the door, poor Bilbo stood frozen. He has long known his stepmother disliked him, but never had he thought she would wish him _dead_. After dinner, he attempted to slip away, but Lobelia caught him and sent him to bed, standing outside his door until he obediently changed into his pajamas and crawled under the covers. Lotho came and, as directed, shoved Bilbo to the edge of the bed and took the side against the wall for himself. Soon enough, he fell into a deep slumber, and Bilbo began to form a plan.

Lotho, he knew, was a deep sleeper. Not even the loudest thunder would wake him once he began to snore, and Bilbo took advantage of this, gently pushing him until Lotho slept at the edge of the bed. Then Bilbo lay against the wall. There he waited, fearful, for his stepmother to come. In the darkened room, she could not tell the difference between her own child and Bilbo, and when she raised her hatchet, one neck was just as hard to sever as any other. Bilbo closed his eyes, and wished himself miles away, and when she had done her evil work, Lobelia left the room without checking the other body laying in the bed.  
Bilbo got up then, sparing one regretful glance for the body of his stepbrother, whom he had never really hated, (though he also had never liked,) and began to pack. Once he had a small bag ready with all that he would need, he snuck into his parent's room and stole Lobelia's Magic wand from under her pillow. Then, quiet as a mouse, he crept from the house and ran into town. He regretted leaving his beautiful cloak, but it would by him precious time while Lobelia gloated over it before going to look for Lotho.

Thorin woke quickly when Bilbo knocked on his window, and decided in that moment to flee with his lover, to keep him safe from Lobelia, who was almost certain to pursue them. Bilbo tried to argue with him, not wanting him to give up everything for his sake, but finally gave in. In truth, he was glad. The worst of everything would have been leaving Thorin behind. 

And so they went, as fast as Thorin's pony could take them. By morning, they were miles away, and still they kept on riding. They knew, in their hearts, that as long as Lobelia lived, no place would truly be safe for them. But they were together, and that was really all that mattered.

 

Back in the Shire, Lobelia woke late. She had slept the untroubled sleep of someone with no conscience, and viewed the day ahead with much pleasure. Her annoying stepson was dead, her husband was away on business and would not be back for many weeks so she could practice magic openly within the house, and her own son would be happy with his new cloak. Perhaps she could even enchant that rich blacksmith's son into marrying her own son in place of his departed beloved. Things were looking up for Lobelia, and continued to do so until Lotho failed to show up for breakfast.

Concerned, Lobelia called for Lotho throughout the house, but got no answer. He wasn't outside either, or in any of the places he could usually be found. It took the better part of the morning for Lobelia to look into the bedroom, where, instead of Bilbo’s dead body, she found her own son’s decapitated head, his body soaked in his own blood. In horror, she went to her pillow and reached for her wand, only to find it missing. Cursing, she called up a vision of Bilbo and found him on the road, nestled against Thorin’s chest already far from town and getting farther with each step the pony took. With a growl, she waved her hand and the vision vanished. Then she went to the closet and retrieved her many-league boots, which could cover seven leagues in each step. With these, she could follow Bilbo and get her revenge for the death of her child in a matter of minutes.

 

Far along the road, Bilbo knew they were pursued. With his stepmother’s wand, he looked for her and found her advancing on them at an alarming rate. Just in time he used the wand to turn the pony into a lake, and himself and Thorin into ducks. Lobelia arrived moments later, and saw what she had done. Then she did her best to tempt the ducks to her, offering bread and corn and other things she thought a duck might like. She even resorted to cursing at the ducks, but without her wand she could do nothing to draw them close enough to reach and when the day ended she was forced to return home with nothing to show for her efforts.

With Lobelia gone, Bilbo returned himself, the pony, and Thorin to their normal forms. “She will come back,” he said, when he had gotten his bearings again- it was quite strange being a duck instead of a hobbit.

“I know,” Thorin replied. “So we must be ready.” He proposed a plan that would end their troubles for good, and Bilbo, though reluctant, agreed to it.

The next day, Lobelia once again put on her many-league boots and followed Bilbo and Thorin. Along the road she found the pony grazing beside a rose within a thorn bush, and knew it to be Bilbo. Next to the bush slept a young man with a harp, who woke as she approached.

“Kind sir,” Lobelia said, faking a smile, “please, may I pick that beautiful flower beside you?”

“This?” The harpist looked at the flower and shrugged. “Of course.” He picked up his harp and stood aside. As Lobelia moved closer, he began to play. The tune was light, catchy, and Lobelia found herself wanting to dance. Without quite meaning to, her steps turned into dancing, and, before she knew it, she found she could not stop. She danced closer to the thorn bush, and closer still, until the thorns tore at her clothes. Still she danced. Her clothes turned to shreds, and then her skin, the thorns growing thicker and longer as she danced further into the bush. The music could hardly be heard under her screams, but the magic in it was strong and true and she danced until she died.

Then Bilbo turned himself back into a hobbit, and Thorin into a dwarf. Averting his eyes from what had once been his stepmother, he clung to his lover in relief. Finally, they were free. He did not know he was crying until Thorin gently wiped the tears from his eyes.

“She is gone, _ghivashuh._ She cannot hunt us any longer.”

“We can go home,” Bilbo said. Then frowned. “But… what if they blame us, blame _me_ for… all this? For all the bad things Lobelia did?”

“Then I will go first, _azyungal_ ,” Thorin told him, “and make sure it is safe. Then I will return for you, and if it is safe I will bring you home to be my husband. And if it is not, we will find another place where we will be together.”

So Thorin left, and, for safety’s sake, Bilbo turned himself into a red boundary stone so that only Thorin would recognize him. There he waited. And waited. And waited. Days turned into weeks, and then a month, and still Thorin did not come. Knowing then that either Thorin was killed or he had been forsaken, Bilbo turned himself into a flower beside the road and waited for someone to come trample him down. What he didn’t know was that Lobelia had laid one last curse for them before she had left her house to chase them. When Thorin returned to town, the curse took hold, and he (and the entire town) forgot all about Bilbo. The little hobbit was wiped clean from their minds, and Thorin’s father introduced him to a wealthy dwarf he wished Thorin to marry, to form a marriage-alliance with his people. Their courtship began, and Thorin liked the dwarf well enough, but there was a constant nagging at the back of his mind that something was very wrong. In time he learned to ignore it, and devoted himself to the idea of marriage to the dwarf of his father’s choosing.

Meanwhile, Bilbo was not trampled to death. Instead, a herdsman passed by on the way to the field and picked the flower, taking it back to his home with him that night and placing it in a bowl filled with water. The next morning, the herdsman woke to a suspiciously clean house, breakfast ready and waiting on the table with a packed lunch next to it for him to take with him to the field. That night, he returned to find all the housework done and dinner set out for him. He could find no evidence of another person in the house, and indeed there was nowhere for someone to hide. Nor were there tracks outside, though the day had been wet and anyone leaving the house would have left tracks in the mud.

This pattern continued for some time, leaving the herdsman puzzled. At first it was nice, not having to worry about the housework or cooking, but soon it began to unnerve him. Days went by, and still he could find no evidence of who was doing this. Eventually, he went to a wizard in town and asked for advice.

“Wait tonight, and listen,” the wizard told him, “and when you hear something moving toss a white cloth over it. This will end the magic that allows your guest to remain unseen.”

The herdsman went home, and followed the wizard’s advice. He went about his normal routine and climbed into bed, but instead of sleeping, he lay awake and listened. Some time later he heard something moving, and sat up to see the flower rising from the table. Quickly, he threw a the cloth over it, and watched in surprise as it draped, not over a flower, but the shape of a person. When he pulled the cloth away, he saw a young hobbit looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Where did you come from?” the herdsman demanded, noticing how green the hobbit’s eyes were, and how golden was his hair.

“I’m the flower you picked some days ago,” the hobbit told him. And then, he told the herdsman his whole story. When he was done, the herdsman took his hands and vowed to make sorrow a thing of the past. He told Bilbo he would care for him, and offered himself in marriage. Bilbo just smiled sadly and said no, he would not be unfaithful to Thorin, no matter what had happened. The herdsman understood, and gladly accepted Bilbo as a companion instead. The hobbit continued to do his housework and cooking, and they lived together comfortably for a time. But the herdsman could see that, in his heart, Bilbo was still sorrowful, and wished there was something he could do for the person who had come into his lonely life and made it brighter.

One day, in an attempt to cheer them both up, he brought Bilbo with him into town- the very town in which Bilbo had lived with Lobelia and Lotho- where they found a wedding was about to be celebrated.

“Oh, it’s the wedding of Thorin, the son of the blacksmith,” the girl they asked told them excitedly. “Everyone is saying it’s going to be a grand ceremony! His husband-to-be is very rich, and they say the marriage will strengthen the guild, so the guild itself is throwing the wedding and all the townspeople are invited to come sing for the couple. Isn’t it wonderful?”

The herdsman turned to Bilbo, and wrapped a comforting arm around him. “I’m sorry, Bilbo. I didn’t know about this. Why don’t we go home, and come back some other time?”

Before Bilbo could reply, the girl gave a scandalized gasp. “Go? No! You can’t go, it’s going to be the event of the _century_. You _have_ to come!” She then grabbed Bilbo and the herdsman by the hands, and drew them towards the wedding gathering. There, they were forced into the line of people who were to sing for Thorin and his groom. When his turn came, Bilbo stepped back until he was last. Then he stood and looked at his lover, standing with his arms around another man. Tears in his eyes, and with a heavy heart, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

_Home is behind_

_The world ahead_

_And there are many paths to tread_

_Through shadow_

_To the edge of night_

_Until the stars are all alight_

_Mist and shadow_

_Cloud and shade_

_All shall fade_

_All shall_

_Fade_

 

The last note hung heavy in the air, and all who heard it felt the sorrow of the singer. Thorin frowned, and seemed to be in pain. That sense of _wrongness_ was stronger now than ever, and he felt as if he were fighting with his own mind. He _knew_ the singer, though he couldn’t place his name. It felt… it felt almost as if he had been enchanted, but, that was silly. He had never been enchanted before, so how could he know what that felt like? But no. He _had_ been enchanted. Twice. He had been turned into a duck once, and then into a harpist, in order to save… in order to save Bilbo from his wicked stepmother. Bilbo, who now stood before him as he prepared to marry another.

“Bilbo,” he breathed, suddenly filled with horror at what he had done. “Oh _givashuh_ , forgive me.”

“Thorin?” his groom asked, and Thorin turned to him. “I am sorry, but I cannot marry you. My true love stands before us and, whether he will have me or not, I can marry no other but him.” Then, leaving his former intended standing alone and confused, he went to Bilbo and knelt on the ground before him.

“ _Givashuh_ , my Bilbo. I do not deserve your forgiveness, for what I have done is unforgivable. I forgot you, and our love. I forgot _us_. And I pledged myself to another. I am so, so sorry. I cannot ever hope to make this up to you, but I will try, because you are my One true love, and now that I remember, I shall marry no other but you. If you will have me, I will gladly wed you right now.”

Bilbo stared at him, mind whirling. Where before he had seen for himself a future filled with sorrow, now he felt hope that his dreams were not all in vain. Thorin had… forgotten? He was sorry? He still loved Bilbo? It was a lot to process. He didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or infuriated.

“You… forgot me?” he asked, more thinking aloud than truly questioning. “How? And why do you remember now?”

“I believe I can answer that,” said a familiar voice, and they turned to see the wizard coming through the crowd. “I am sorry, Bilbo, Thorin, that I had not noticed sooner. It seems that Lobelia laid a trap for you both before she died, one that ensnared Thorin when he returned to the Shire, forcing him to forget you. I can’t say for certain why he remembers you now, but it is my belief that true love is far stronger than evil magic, and it was his love of you that broke the spell.”

“I am sorry,” Thorin said again. “Bilbo, _amralime_ , know that I would never willingly forsake you.”

“I…” Bilbo was light-headed, full of so many emotions he couldn’t name them. He took a step and staggered, collapsing into Thorin’s arms. To feel that warmth about him, when he had thought to never know it again, well, that decided him. There really was no other course of action, not where his heart was concerned. “Oh, Thorin. I love you. I always will. And if you really do still want me, I _will_ marry you.”

The wedding continued then, though a different groom stood beside Thorin. Bilbo could hardly believe it, and had to keep pinching himself to be certain he wasn’t dreaming. In one instant, the most sorrowful day of his life had become the most joyful, and Lobelia had been beaten, once and for all. For once, it was a happy ending all around. The herdsman, happy for his friend but sad to lose his companion, had gone to comfort Thorin’s original groom. Then their eyes had met, and, well, that was the start of another romance. Bilbo’s father returned home to find himself free of his harpy of a wife, his son happily married, and his merchant’s guild having gained ties to the blacksmith’s guild through his son’s marriage. And Bilbo and Thorin, well, they couldn’t have been happier. They were together, despite all the odds, and no one could part them again. They had adventures together, like they had always dreamed, before settling down. They sometimes fought, and sometimes bad things happened, but, truly, they lived happily ever after.

*givashuh- my treasure

*azyungal- lover

*amralime- my love

*The song is A Walking Song, written by Bilbo, as sung by Pippin in the Lord of the Rings

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!!!!!!
> 
> This is part of a series I plan to do randomly in my free time, with multiple pairings/fandoms/fairytales. Any suggestions for what to do next would be welcome! My pairings are: Tolkien- Frodo/Sam, Thorin/Bilbo, Legolas/Gimli; Marvel Cinematic Universe- Steve/Bucky, Tony/Pepper, Clint/Natasha, and the occasional Tony/Pepper/Bruce; Sherlock- John/Sherlock; Star Trek- Kirk/Spock, Kirk/McCoy, Chekhov/Sulu; Merlin- Merlin/Arthur. I'd like to focus on Grimm's fairy-tales for now, but am willing to consider other tales. (Be aware that the next one won't be done for a while, unless I get writer's block and need something to kick me out of it. Fairytale writing seems to be good for that.)


End file.
